Respawn: Lives 1-5 (Respawn LitRPG series Book 1)

by Arthur Stone

  Active quests: Survive, Search, Learn Secret, Help, Ask Correct Question. Current status: Game Start. The cluster will reboot in 97 seconds.

  Hint: Loot items come in various kinds, and not all are healthy to consume. Exercise caution when taking them, and allow sufficient time between each. Never try to consume several powerful loot items at once. This is highly likely to cause unpleasant consequences. Note: You lost... you lost... lost... lost...

  Something was different this time. The text seemed stuck. The ending broke into pieces. Malfunctioning, flickering lines repeated themselves, and then the scrolling text stopped completely. None of the other times had been like this. The text had always run clear to the bottom.

  Looks like this toy is broken. As if anything this cruel could be called a toy. Being slain by humans and monsters wasn’t enough—apparently, you could accidentally off yourself, too.

  There was no one he could trust. No one at all. Even the pleas of the dying were best ignored. He couldn’t even trust himself.

  Though that dying man hadn’t hurt Rock. He hadn’t told Rock to choke those balls down. He wanted them for himself. The choking down was Rock’s fault. Why would someone with that much experience yearn for such a gruesome death? Just so that he could revive as quickly as possible? No. That couldn’t be it.

  The text came back to life, happily announcing the familiar lines at its former pace.

  Note: You lost your third life without advancing any of your base stats. Try to avoid dying again, and do your best to prevent your number of remaining revives from reaching zero. To help you out, you have been given 30 Luck progress points, raising your base Luck to 3. Considering your bad luck so far, you could use it. Also: your situation is unique and requires a specific resolution. Development of your resolution is in progress. Unique achievements earn special rewards and luck boosts. Consequently, you receive 4000 Luck progress points, raising your base Luck to 28. Congratulations! Your auxiliary stats have now reached a total of 30. Your XP has reached level 3. New options are now available. The pearls you consumed have increased your Talent Rank by 288 progress points. Your auxiliary Talent Rank stat has reached level 7.

  Hint: remember that you still have not leveled up, so your base stats have not grown. You cannot take advantage of your Talent Rank boost until you increase your base stats. Remember that leveling up is critical. Neglect your level at your own peril.

  Enjoy your game.

  Wow, two hints at once. One was obvious, since Rock had already figured out what had ended his third life. The second was incomprehensible. So, no helpful hints. Talent Rank? What was that? Whatever it was, he was unlikely to solve it staring at the peeling paint of the dorm ceiling.

  What he did know is that some unknown threat might be waiting for him, based on the negative tone at the end of the message. The bit about dying over and over without leveling up. Now, if only he knew how to level up.

  Why was he so sure, even though his memory was gone, that some of his friends had been gamers? Especially when he apparently had no idea about games? Each minute was just more confusing than the last. Did video games these days really treat people so cruelly? Any project that dealt with its customers this poorly would go belly-up in a matter of days, if not hours. And its leaders sentenced to a hundred life sentences, if the justice system were fair.

  Despite this text that kept taunting him, he still wasn’t convinced this was a game. And he didn’t feel particularly lucky, either.

  He leaped up to see the green LEDs flickering and the glow of a monitor at a nearby desk. A computer, powered on and unlocked. Perfect! He knew that his roommate would be unwilling to help him search for anything. Time to try learning a thing or two before the power and cellular went down. Apparently never to return. From everything he knew about the game so far, that was the rule. Once the power went off, it never returned. Rock hated this game, but he had to play it.

  He didn’t remember ever working with computers, but he seemed to know how to. The interface was simple. He managed to plug two full questions into the search engine, greedily taking in all of the results.

  Nothing useful.

  The third request locked up the computer and provoked a warning about “No Internet connection,” plus the beep of the UPS informing Rock the computer was on emergency power and should be shut down immediately, or Rock might lose his work.

  Rock glanced through the titles of the open search engine result pages one last time. There was no work to be lost—it was all garbage. Next time, he would need to word his questions more carefully. Maybe that was the point of all this. Apparently his new “Luck” didn’t apply to hastily improvised search queries. But no matter. Rock had plenty of lives left to figure things out.

  Hmm. What happened if his lives ran out? Maybe he would exit the game then. If so, why bother playing? He could just hurl himself headfirst into the pavement time and again. A couple of hours later, he’d be down to life ninety-nine.

  No. Not worth experimenting with. There was no way a cunning trap like this would have such a simple exit. Besides, killing himself again and again a hundred times might break his mind.

  Rock’s roommate had noticed his movements. The pile of blankets stirred, as required by tradition, and a black head of hair leaned out, staring sleepily at him. “Hey, I don’t remember—did I pass or not?”

  Rock was confused. The question had not occurred in previous lives. He had expected nothing new from this dorm room. But he didn’t care what some artificial human thought. These “digis” weren’t people. They were just accurate imitations, preprogrammed biorobots, and their programming was rudimentary and lacked variety.

  He ignored the question and hit back with his own. “Got any money?”

  “Weird start to the day, Moose. Why do you need money?”

  “To spend it. Got any?”

  “Why would I have money?”

  “How about I take a look?”

  “I’m poor, man. Maybe there’s a twenty somewhere, but I need it to reach the weekend.”

  “You’re not going to make it, man,” said Rock as he threw on his clothes.

  “You’re shit at good mornings, you know that, Moose?”

  “Hey, do you remember my real name?” asked Rock, without daring to hope. He got the answer he expected, an evasive one.

  “You on something, Moose? Can’t remember your own name? Where are you going?”

  “I don’t know. Probably not robbing a bank today. But maybe.”

  “Huh?”

  “Just thinking aloud. You got a gun? Like a pistol or rifle or something?”

  “You kidding me? Where would I get a weapon?”

  “So does anyone here have a gun?”

  “In the dorm? If anyone does, I sure as hell don’t know about it. I don’t hang out with that crowd.”

  “OK, is there somewhere around where I can buy a rifle or a shotgun? Without a delay, I mean. And how much will it cost?”

  The man stared at “Moose” in amazement. “You should go back to sleep, Moose, you’re still upset about...”

  “I know, I know, about Seta and me breaking up.”

  “Seta? No, it was Tania. Who’s Seta?”

  “Goddammit, all these women and my soccer career and your sleeping pills can go to hell!”

  “What does soccer have to do with anything?”

  “Just tell me, can I get a gun or not?”

  “Go see the cops and fill out a permit form, and they’ll let you buy one in a month or two.”

  “I don’t have a month or two. One hour from now, only those with guns will survive.”

  Rock opened the door and left. The hallway looked about the same. The familiar gloom, the concerned students. Even the same disgusting faces cropped up. Rock was starting to feel at home here. He found the stairs on his first try.

  If he had one wish, it was never to see this dorm again. He was in a bad mood, mostly because he had no idea where all of this was heading. Sho
uld he look for someone else like that pair of soldiers, or like Horsefly, and follow them? Or ask them where to go? He had no idea, otherwise.

  Wait—maybe he did. Would the same exact events start happening in the near future? This did seem to be the same scenario as always. A dorm square in the path of a flood of perilous creatures hunting for human flesh. Crazy drivers and generally insane individuals. Then, at the end, total domination of the city by massive monsters. People would be torn to pieces in the streets and eaten. Even those hiding in apartments and other refuges would be rooted out.

  What was it Horsefly had called the people here? “Biomass.” That must be why the monsters came this way. And some of the monsters, at least, had obviously been humans in the past. He hadn’t forgotten those distorted blue tattoos. What if all of them, even the thorny house-sized two-legged rhinos, had once been ordinary students, drivers, professors, and janitors? These weren’t real humans, but the thought was still a disturbing one.

  It was worth thinking about a little deeper, too. The beasts weren’t just coming to the city to tour the place. They wanted meat. Lots of it. So in this world, cities were dangerous places to be. Maybe wildernesses weren’t exactly safe, but there must have been a reason those soldiers directed Rock to flee the city. Horsefly had been looking to leave, too, moving with Rock towards the bridge at first mention.

  He had to get out of town, but he didn’t know which way to go. The beasts were likely marching in from one direction. If Rock ended up heading that way, he’d be right in their path. Watching from underneath a car again while monsters trampled all around.

  Alright then. What to do. First, get some water. Second, grab a map of the city, to quickly find the best way to get out. Third, take that way as quickly and as far as possible.

  The students were sociable and knew a few things, but whenever he asked about a map, they told him to check a computer. Nobody knew where to get a paper one. One girl with glasses was polite enough to point it out on her tablet, though she said location services weren’t working. At least she could point the way with her finger.

  Rock visually consumed the map, committing everything to memory. Not the irrelevant details—his memory might be uncluttered by personal origin stories, but it wasn’t that sharp—but he remembered the basic outlines and some close-by details well enough. The map was enough to convince him that all of his revivals put him into similar scenarios.

  This time, the city was between the coast and a sizable lake or river that forked into the mainland from it at an acute angle. A narrow corner of land sat wedged between them and the city limits.

  Rock was ready to bet that a “stable”—whatever the hell that was—full of monsters sat in that corner, surging forward now to relieve the city of its “biomass.” At least he wouldn’t be under induced snoring this time, but his experience told him he was far from safe. The only degree of safety he could expect, if those soldiers were right, was on the other side of that river. The hybrid map and satellite view on the student’s screen showed the colors of scattered industrial sites, fields, and forests across the water.

  But Rock was on the ocean side. To get to the river, he’d have to walk or drive across the whole city. He didn’t have time to walk. Even if he managed to avoid hurting his knee this time, it would start acting up after an hour of walking. Clearing the whole city would take three hours, at least. And then he’d have to cross the bridge, across the wide waterway, and cover some ground beyond that.

  What if he tried for the sea? He could find a boat and strike out into the water. He didn’t have a bum elbow, and with oars he could go wherever he wanted. Even farther if he found a motorboat.

  Of course, a boat might be nowhere to be found. And how would he take whatever boat he could find from its owners? He could use brute force, of course—but what if the owners were stronger than he was?

  Then there was the taxi option. Rock didn’t want to go through that again. He needed something more mobile. Something that could go anywhere. A scooter, a moped, a motorcycle. Or...

  Rock stepped back over to the girl with the tablet and asked, “Do you know anyplace around here where I could rent a bicycle?”

  “You’ll need a deposit.”

  Rock had no clue whether the money in his wallet and the watch on his wrist would be enough. But he was ready to give them his pants if it meant getting a bike. First, though, he needed to get some water, and maybe some food. Plus a quick stop at the drugstore.

  * * *

  Each time Rock revived now, he felt like he was being born all over again. With an incurable birth defect. Time and again he had to deal with his right knee—or both knees—plus the scars and the searing pain if he put weight on his leg at any angle other than the one single way it allowed. Bending and unbending his knee was a whole different story.

  Those passing by gave Rock puzzled, even suspicious looks. Of course, they had no idea that their serene lives would come to a swift and brutal end before an hour had passed. But Rock didn’t blame them for the looks. He was sitting in the middle of a boulevard on a park bench, pant leg rolled up, tightly winding his knee with a wide strip of bandage. It was the quietest comfortable place he could find, despite the interest it aroused in the curious old ladies of the neighborhood.

  He was trying to restrict his knee’s range of motion, unsure that it would help. It would certainly make pedaling a little harder. Standing and testing out his knees, he found that the wrap helped. Now to find a bike and leave this insane metropolis behind him.

  People were still calm and quiet, but that meant nothing. He knew the terrible evening that awaited them all.

  * * *

  Rock’s prophetic talents let him down. As he was coasting down the road to the river in the distance, the city’s peaceful daily life marched on.

  Well, not quite “peaceful.” The ridiculous layout of the place and the lack of city ordinances to improve traffic conditions resulted in one endless traffic jam. But on a bicycle, he could always get by, even if it meant dismounting and carrying it up on his shoulder through the tightest spots.

  He managed, despite the difficulties. The city had absolutely no conveniences for bikers in place. No bike lanes, no safety signs, nothing. If Rock had known the place, he could have probably taken backroads, but instead he followed the main roads, often hearing insistent horn honks in his honor and even the occasional curse. He felt like replying more than once, but restrained himself. What point was there to arguing with a bunch of biorobots? Many more of them would be justifiably cursing at traffic conditions soon enough. Among other things.

  But so far, Rock had not noticed even a tiny accident along the way. Drivers fought for their places on the road, but they followed the rules. No suicides, no death rams, no catastrophic skids. The traffic lights even worked in some places, so part of the city was powered.

  That was odd. A decent stretch of time had passed by now. He had wrapped his knee, walked to the bicycle place, and smooth-talked his way into borrowing a bike without having to provide collateral. It had been tough to explain why he had no identification and no phone, not even a cheap flip phone. Somehow he had gotten a bike anyway, but only because the store employee had recognized him. He was known around town as a soccer player, after all. Apparently his reputation was a good one, since the store had ultimately agreed to waive the deposit entirely.

  His leg still bothered him, but this was much better than walking. Especially when he started moving downhill. He just let his right leg hang down without bothering with the pedal. On the final stretch, the side streets and the ancient clunkers poking out from them disappeared, giving way to a high concrete wall topped with a swirl of barbed wire stretching along the left. The traffic was rather light, and the road was wonderfully wide.

  Rock took advantage. He kept off the brakes and let the bike take him. The wind buzzed in his ears. He hit the gently sloping turn towards the water at such speed it took his breath away.

  And the
spectacle revealed as he turned nearly made his heart stop.

  The road kept going, stretching out towards the bridge he had sought for so long—and then stopped. There was no way forward. Dozens of vehicles were piled up into a heap. Buses, trucks, cars, police vehicles, ambulances, and even an armed APC sat stagnant. People stood looking at the water, running, walking, sitting in silence, shouting, discussing, waving their arms. It was a piece of solid pavement filled with stopped machines and hyperactive biorobots.

  Rock almost hit the brakes. That would’ve been stupid. Stopping the front wheel at this speed might have flipped him. He stopped without any permanent consequences, but it wasn’t easy. He had to wriggle the wheel and slow down gradually, barely avoiding a crash and pushing off the bumper of a truck with his right foot.

  He dismounted and held his bicycle, freezing and staring at the place where the quiet ones were looking. Everyone was gaping at the river. Rock didn’t know what was so fascinating about it. It was cool, sure. Wide, deep, and currently transporting a massive barge that looked equipped to weather hurricanes. But it was just a river. No river had the power to hold a crowd’s attention like this.

  The bridge was another matter. That was worth looking at. It was a very unusual bridge. An impossible bridge.

  At first, it might have seemed ordinary. Decent concrete pylons supported a solid metal construction. But the bridge didn’t reach the other side. It looked like a giant saw had sheared it off partway across, and the unsupported piece that remained had bent under the weight, coming to rest. On top of a different bridge.

  Yes, it’s definitely another bridge. Architects loved to play tricks on the eye, but this was a bridge for vehicle traffic on one end and a railroad bridge on the other. They weren’t even the same width.

  The meeting ends of the bridges both sagged down to the water, resting there on a suspicious support. Rock strained his eyes. The “support” was constructed of fallen vehicles and broken bridge pieces. No one could get across, but that wasn’t what explained the traffic congestion. People are always attracted to the unusual, and this wasn’t just unusual—it was completely unbelievable.